


The Piece of Cake Diner

by Minavi



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minavi/pseuds/Minavi
Summary: Sarah's just a waitress in a little diner in the middle of nowhere but then someone new moves into town and he is, without doubt, the most annoying man she has ever met in her life.
Relationships: Jareth/Sarah Williams
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Thankfully

_Everything was spinning, dancing. She heard a voice speak but she could not make out the words. Another voice responded and she thought it was her own. She was saying something… something important… If only she could hear. She strained to listen but all she could hear was a buzzing sound that grew louder and louder, shattering the haze around her and-_

Sarah smacked the alarm clock and pressed her hands to her eyes, attempting to block out the sun streaming through her bedroom window. Summoning all of her willpower, she dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom, gazing with resignation at the mirror and the dark circles under her eyes. 

She had slept the night through, a full seven hours, but she felt as if her head had just touched the pillow. She turned on the shower and began to undress as she waited for the water to heat. Idly, she tried to remember the last time she felt like she’d gotten a full night’s sleep. Sometime before she’d moved, surely. So six months, at least. With a groan, she stepped into the shower and willed it to wake her up.

She relished the hot water for just a moment before she started washing her hair. She would like to stand in there and contemplate the meaning of life for a while, but the water heater in the duplex was a sad little thing and her neighbor often took a shower around this same time. Such was life in Gooseberry.

Her brain checked out as the morning routine took her. Brush her teeth, dry her hair, braid it and pin it around her head, clothes, light make-up, breakfast? No, she’d grab a smoothie at work. Before she knew it she stood at the door and ran down the final mental checklist. Shoes, pants, wallet, keys, phone, check. She cast one last uncomfortable look at her computer, sitting dejectedly in the corner, and closed the door.

It was only a few blocks to work so unless the weather was absolutely abysmal, she usually walked. Today the air was the crisp cool of early spring in the mountains, but nothing a jacket couldn’t take care of, so with a muttered, ‘Come on feet,’ she headed out. 

Everything was nearby in Gooseberry, population about 1200. The little town was named for nearby Gooseberry Lake and catered heavily to the steady stream of campers, hikers, hunters and fishers that loved the area, set into beautiful mountains and criss-crossed by little streams and brooks. Fortunately it was also ‘on the way’ to enough places that it could get by, even in the off-season, though there were times in the winter when heavy snow made the road into and out of town impassable for a few days here or there.

Had she really only been here half a year? It felt like so much longer, despite the fact that many of the life-long residents of the town still viewed her as the mysterious newcomer. 

Sarah walked the short distance to work, the cool air perking her up a bit, jogged across the empty highway that bisected the town, and knelt down to give Ludo a good pet. Ludo was a huge, shaggy dog that lived back behind the laundromat next door, but he was friends with everyone in town. He had long, russet red fur, a droopy face and soulful eyes. She had no idea what breed he might be, but he reminded Sarah of her old dog, Merlin, so she often brought him little treats.

At last, she took a deep breath before opening the door to the Piece of Cake Diner. Little bells jingled merrily.

“Yer late!”

She rolled her eyes and hung her jacket on the coat rack by the door. “I’m ten minutes early,” she countered. 

“When I was yer age there wasn’t any of this showin’ up at the last minute without a care in the world. What if we had hungry customers waitin’, eh? What then?”

Slipping on her apron and name tag, Sarah said, “Then you wouldn’t let them in because we don’t open for another half hour.” She grinned impudently at her boss and he threw up his dark, wrinkled hands in disgust. There was no point getting ruffled by Mr. H, the owner of the diner. He was gruff and always grumpy, but he never failed to do right by his employees and they all knew that deep down he was a complete softy. 

She was grateful to have gotten a job here. It was a decent place with mostly good coworkers and it paid enough even without tips to cover her rent. It had been stupid, she knew upon reflection, to pack up her things on a whim and move to this little town in the middle of nowhere and no plans for what to do when she arrived. She’d gotten lucky to be taken under the wing of Mr. H, who gave her work and helped her find a place to live. She owed him a lot.

After making herself a quick smoothie, Sarah set to work preparing the front counter to open. She exchanged a few words with Boris in the kitchen, wiped the countertops down, set out condiments and menus, and moved the pastries from the big refrigerator to the display case. She scowled at them for a moment before calling out, “Carrot cake. Everyone likes a good slice of carrot cake.”

“No,” Mr. H snapped.

“We have pie, cinnamon rolls, danishes and cobbler,” she exclaimed with exasperation. It was an old argument. 

“We got plenty,” her boss agreed.

“It’s called the Piece of Cake Diner. The _Piece_ of _Cake_. How can we not sell cake? It’s… it’s false advertising!”

Mr. H snorted, an impressive sound from his bulbous nose. “Ain’t nobody ever complained but you.”

Sarah opened her mouth to continue her argument but the little bells on the door jingled, welcoming in the first customer of the day.


	2. Deftly

Sarah wasn’t one to stare, goodness knows the town of Gooseberry had more than its fair share of unusual looking residents and visitors, but the man who walked through the door required a second and even third look.

His skin was pale and had a fragileness to it, as if it might part like tissue-paper in a strong breeze, and his wispy blond hair, that was tied back at the nape of his neck but still managed to stand up in all directions, only emphasized the look of a man on the verge of shattering. He wore a black leather jacket that looked like it cost more than her car and his jeans were far too tight to be decent. She saw a reflection of herself in the dark circles under his eyes, though, and for a moment her heart was struck by a strange compassion for him.

That was until he looked around the small diner, sniffed disdainfully and slouched into the corner booth like a sulky teenager. 

“Coffee?” she called, slipping into her cheerful waitress persona. He nodded without looking at her, making her bristle. 

“Forgot to tell ye,” Mr. H said under his breath as he filled a mug for her. “You ain’t the new kid anymore. He just moved in yesterday to that big ol’ cabin back in the hills.” She knew of the place, everyone did. Some old movie star she’d never heard of had built it to retire in, then died before he’d lived there even a year. It had stood empty since then. It must have cost a fortune.

She brought him the steaming mug and a pasted on smile. “Menu’s there on the table, do you need a few minutes?” As she moved to set the mug down, he looked up at her and their eyes connected. Her fingers went slack and the cup started to fall but the man deftly snatched it out of the air without breaking their gaze. He looked very smug about his accomplishment.

It took a moment for Sarah to gather her wits and then she flushed red. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened. Did any spill on you? Are you ok?”

“It’s fine,” he replied and she was startled by his accent and the musicality of his voice. “Nothing spilled and I do not need a minute. Eggs. Two. Over-easy. And some bacon. Crispy. That will be all.” And then he turned his attention to the coffee, long fingers reaching for the creamer. 

Sarah returned to the counter in a slight daze and gave the man’s order to Boris. She still writhed inside with embarrassment at nearly dropping a full cup of hot coffee in a customer’s lap, but that was muted by the other thoughts bouncing chaotically in her head. 

Those eyes. Perfect, clear, blue but mismatched, one pupil dilated and the other not. But the unusual beauty wasn’t what had startled her, nor was it the sharp intensity of his gaze. Something about his eyes made her feel dizzy, nostalgic and a little bit afraid but for the life of her she could think of no reason for such an extreme reaction. She’d never seen him before, or anyone who even looked remotely like him. Surely she would remember someone like that. 

Why did her heart flutter, like when she awoke with a start after a dream of falling?

She forced the thoughts from her mind, taking a deep, calming breath, and set to restocking the salt and pepper shakers. Ada should have done it when she closed last night but then Ada was Ada. Sarah did not miss the look Mr H was giving her but fervently hoped she would not be called upon to explain her unusual behavior. 

The man seemed to breathe coffee and required two refills before his eggs were even cooked. 

Boris chimed the bell to let her know that the food was ready to be brought out and as Sarah took the plate she noticed that the man was hunched over a piece of paper on the table, scribbling furiously. Was he a writer? The thought made Sarah bite her lip in consternation but she was unable to verify the theory because when he saw her coming he quickly stuffed the paper out of view. 

Another couple came in while he ate. Sarah knew them; they ran the gas station at the east end of town and often came by for breakfast while their oldest son manned the shop. They ordered, ate, paid and left while the pale man continued to nurse his coffee and bacon. 

He’d been there for more than an hour, and at least six refills, before finally sliding out of the booth and moving to the cash register where Sarah met him. Carefully fixing her customer service smile in place she asked if everything was to his satisfaction.

“Fine,” he said, indifferently, as he dug out his wallet. As he handed her his card, though, a light of mischief entered his eyes and he murmured, “I have to say, though, I have never had a woman attempt to scald me with boiling liquid before I’d even said two words to her.”

Her lips tightened. “I’m very sorry about that, sir. But it was an accident and it was not boiling.”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken, watching her through the strands of hair that fell across his eyes. “Right in my lap, too. My poor…. Jeans. They would have been ruined.”

Ire flared in her and she spoke without thought. “Well it would have given you a reason to get some new pants that weren’t so ridiculously tight.”

Rather than looking annoyed or offended, he gave her a veritably obscene smile and purred, “Noticed, did you?”

Sarah could only gape wordlessly as he signed the receipt and left. Finally she forced her mouth closed and looked down at the slip of paper in her hand. His signature was flamboyant. _Jareth Aelfric._


	3. Generally

It was the lunch rush, which meant four of the tables in the diner were occupied. Sarah was making drinks while Ada waited the tables. She had gained a lot of favor with Mr. H when she had convinced him to invest in a good espresso machine and coffee grinder. He’d thought that the folk of Gooseberry wouldn’t be interested in ‘froofy lattes and cap-a-spressos’, but had been pleasantly proven wrong and the machines were quickly paying for themselves. Sarah was glad that her brief stint as a barista when she was in college had proven so helpful to her now.

Sarah generally worked in the morning, from opening until late afternoon. That meant that for most of her shift it was usually just her, Boris and Mr. H. Mr. H was always in the diner. He was back in his office now, grumbling over some paperwork or arguing with one of their vendors. She glanced up at the clock. One-forty. In exactly twenty minutes he would stump out, complain about people trying to rob him, and make himself a huckleberry milkshake.

She enjoyed the lunch period, though, when her shift overlapped with the evening server. Usually it was Ada, though on weekends she sometimes got to work with Jason, a nice kid who worked part time while he was in high school. Not that there was a high school in Gooseberry. Jason had to take the bus twenty miles each morning to Laurelburg, passing the bus bringing Laurelburg kids to the Gooseberry Elementary School on the way.

“Oh geez, Sarah, I didn’t tell you about the weird guy,” Ada exclaimed as she returned to the counter. Sarah handed an iced macchiato off to one of their regulars and glanced at her coworker. Ada was about Sarah’s age and very pretty with red-brown hair usually worn in a high ponytail. Her hazel eyes were large and expressive, making her look younger than she was. Right now those eyes were alight with excitement.

“Oh?”

“Ok, so he looked like a rock star or something. You know, one of those really intense ones that write songs about political revolution and Kirkegaard and stuff. And he was  _ gorgeous. _ ” She emphasized the last word by playfully bumping her hip against Sarah’s. “Blond hair, blue eyes, and very… what’s the word? Aloof, y’know?”

Sarah’s lips pursed as she remembered the man from before- had it been three or four days? She had never met anyone who was able to goad her so easily and the memory wasn’t pleasant. No need to spoil Ada’s impression though, so Sarah replied, “I think I know who you’re talking about.”

Her friend’s eyes went even rounder, “You saw him too? Twice in the last three days I’ve seen him come in but he just looks around and then turns and leaves. I tried to ask him if I could help him find something last time but he just- oh my gosh, it’s him!” 

The last words came out in a hiss, prompting Sarah to turn from what she was doing and glance towards the door. His walk had a predatory quality to it, not stalking but full of dangerous promise for anyone who disturbed him. His outfit seemed nearly the same, though his overly tight jeans were gray now, instead of blue. She noticed that he was wearing boots, though not the typical cowboy boots that abounded in this part of the country. His were black, leather and nearly reached his knees. 

His gaze raked across the diner, caught on her for just a moment, and he moved to the booth in the corner, again.

Sarah closed her eyes and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. Just looking at him made her temper flare up, a feeling she was not used to and did not like. Muttering about stupid spikey hair, Sarah walked to the table, not even noticing the surprised look Ada gave her.

She stopped at his table, glowering a little, and then plastered on her biggest, cheesiest waitress smile. “Hi there!” she said, sunshine and bluebirds spilling from her lips, “Welcome ot the Piece of Cake Diner! My name’s Sarah and I’ll be your server today.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off, “Our lunch specials today are a turkey and brie sandwich on a croissant or a bison burger with cheese. Both are served with a side of french fries and a cup of coleslaw.”

Frowning he began, “I ju-” but she kept on talking over him, her phony smile slowly becoming genuine as she saw the annoyance building in his eyes.

“The Piece of Cake Diner is happy to offer discounts for veterans and senior citizens. Are you a senior citizen?” She enjoyed his incredulous look but did not give him time to respond. “We also have lattes, iced or hot, on special- buy one get one half off! We have a variety of flavors including vanilla, hazelnut, raspberry, caramel, cinnamon-”

“Coffee,” he snapped, thumping a hand sharply on the table, “Just coffee.”

“Hot or iced?”

“Wha- hot, of course.” The look he gave her implied that he was wondering if she had hit her head since the last time he had been there, or perhaps if she had an evil twin sister. Sarah relished it.

“For here or to go?” Her smile had metamorphosed without her knowledge into a rather wicked looking grin.

Little strands of blond hair trembled as he growled, “I wouldn’t be sitting here if I wanted it to go, now would I?”

“Would you like anything else, sir? Shall I repeat the specials for you?”

“No!” he exclaimed, “No. I will have the turkey sandwich.” Regaining his footing, he finished, “That will be all.”

She gave him a cheery nod and spun to walk away. For just a moment she thought she heard an amused chuckle but when she turned back to look he was very thoroughly inspecting his silverware.


	4. Possibly

Sarah checked her mailbox, empty, and swung open the little gate to her side of the duplex. Why did she always walk to work? By the end of her shift, her feet ached and the short walk felt like miles. Maybe she should get a bicycle.

As if in answer to her musing, a cheery ring sounded as a bicycle rolled to a stop behind her. Her neighbor, David, dismounted and wheeled the bike up to park on his porch. “Good afternoon, Miss Sarah,” he called brightly. “I hope you had a pleasant day.”

She smiled at him. He was an older man, tall and lanky with a great white mustache and matching eyebrows. He always seemed to be in a good mood, a trait Sarah found fascinating and a little frightening. David had been very kind to her since she moved in, occasionally bringing her baked goods while she, in turn, helped him out with minor repairs around the house. Annoyed, mismatched eyes flared up in her memory, but she stomped them down to match his positive tone. “Not a bad day at all, David. And you?”

“Ah, today we had a rousing tale of knights and dragons and fair maidens in towers!” He mimed stabbing at a great beast with an invisible sword and Sarah laughed. It was Saturday, which meant that David had spent his afternoon volunteering at the small Gooseberry library, reading to children. He loved it, the kids loved it and their grateful mothers really loved it, so David was well known to all the kids in town.

“Well I hate to be rude but I am dying to get off my feet for a bit. Are we on for tomorrow?”

“But of course!” he replied. On Sundays they got together to play board games.

She gave him a departing wave and made her way into the house, locking the door behind her. Tossing her keys in their bowl, she trudged into the livingroom, trying to think of something easy to make for dinner.

In order to get to the living-room, though, she had to pass the bane of her existence. It stared up at her sadly, silently bemoaning its long abandonment. Sarah carefully did not look at the computer and quickly passed it to flop on her battered couch.

She had tried. She had tried so hard. Growing up, stories had seemed to tumble out of her effortlessly. Her overactive imagination had driven her family nearly to distraction, at times. She had known from a young age that she wanted to be a writer or possibly a playwright and share her stories with the world. Her computer was full of tales she’d written in high school and the first couple years of college. 

But after… 

After she moved to Gooseberry, the stories seemed to dry up. The fairies that had fluttered about in her mind for as long as she could remember had disappeared. Vivid dreams had once sparked her fantasy but now she could not even remember what she dreamt. She could sit at the computer for hours, forcing herself to put down words, but it was all garbage, utter garbage. Over the last couple months, she’d lost the will to even try.

Sarah lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling and thinking vague thoughts about stifled ambitions and grilled cheese sandwiches. She was asleep before she realized it.

_ Something stood over her, someone. It was tall, stretched, infinitely wide and as thin as a sheet of paper. It leaned over her and reached out with a hand, paw, branch, breath of air and touched her temple. Her brows drew down, her forehead creasing with concern. Her hand, dangling off the couch, clenched and unclenched, fingers trembling. She opened her mouth and murmured, “...my will…” _

Outside a dog barked and Sarah sat up with a start. She blinked blearily at the window, realizing that darkness had fallen. Well so much for her sleep schedule. Her stomach growled at her insistantly and she dragged herself up to make some food. Ramen would be good enough.

Ramen was good enough too many nights, lately, but she opted not to think about that.

As she waited for the water to boil, Sarah slipped into the computer chair, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She willed something to happen. A spark of an idea or even just a clever phrase. But nothing came and her hands sunk to her lap.

She’d had a story that she was sure would be her first novel. There had been a girl and… a unicorn who had loved her. Somehow there was a curse involved and a cunning bit of wordplay to resolve everything with a happy ending. She could barely remember the details now. Even the stories that had made homes in her mind for years were drying up and blowing away.

The water boiled and Sarah made her ramen, deciding to be fancy and toss in an egg and some sliced up lunch meat. Oh la la, she’d have to eat it with her pinky raised. She set her bowl on the table and, on impulse, grabbed her phone and made a call.

“Sarah?”

“Hey! Toby! How’s it going?”

“Um, it’s ok Sarah but I can’t talk right now. I’ve got a baseball game. I’m already late and Mom is yelling.” Now that he mentioned it, she could hear the aggravated voice of her stepmother behind him. “I’ll talk to you later, ok?”

She choked down a bit of disappointment. “Sure thing, Tobe. Let me know how the game goes, ok?”

“Kay, bye!” 

Sarah ate her ramen and kept her eyes off her phone. Dad would be at the game with Toby, of course, and she’d drifted away from all her old friends. The closest thing she had to friends here were Mr H and Ada and she’d just seen them. She was fine. She wasn’t a needy little girl who longed for a friendly voice. 

She was fine.


	5. Dramatically

Given that it took fifteen minutes to walk from one end of Gooseberry to the other, Sarah rarely needed to fill her old truck with gas. That did not stop her from being a regular at GooseGas, though, as she liked the owners and had to feed her slushy cravings somehow. The place was empty, so she exchanged a few words with Makena at the counter and got the latest stories about her kids. The oldest was about to graduate college and Sarah told herself she wasn’t jealous.

She got her red slushy (anyone who drank blue was some sort of space alien, in Sarah’s book) and picked out a magazine. She might not cook very regularly herself, but she liked clip out the recipes from the magazines and pretend she would make them some day. Sarah had fantasies about making bread and impressing her friends with fancy pies with beautiful crust designs.

She had tried to make a pie once. It had been a simple enough recipe. She  _ still _ wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong. But after what Toby had dubbed ‘The Apple Atrocity’, her stepmother had banned her from the kitchen.

She was trying to talk herself out of getting a candy bar when she heard the sound of a motorcycle pull into the gas station. Gooseberry was on a very pretty mountain drive, so motorcycles were far from unusual and she wouldn’t have paid it any mind but she happened to glance up as the driver took off his helmet. 

Sarah automatically backpedaled and almost ran into a display of snack cakes. Chaotic blond hair. What was he doing here? Other than, obviously, getting gas. Wasn’t it bad enough that he had started showing up at the diner very morning, just at opening, to make pithy comments and guzzle ungodly amounts of coffee? How dare he have the nerve to exist on her day off?

She glared at him while he was unable to see her. She supposed that the leather jacket made more sense now. She didn’t know squat about motorcycles but it was black and shiny and fit Sarah’s image when she thought ‘biker gang’. His helmet, though, was golden white and had some sort of wings on the sides. Far too angelic for Jareth Aelfric, she thought.

“You ok there, Honey?” Makena called and Sarah forced herself to get a grip. Still, she would rather avoid a confrontation with the annoying man if she could avoid it. She’d just hide out behind the burritos until he’d paid and left.

Unfortunately, Jareth seemed to have other plans. He pumped his gas and then strolled into the shop, greeting Makena politely, which only annoyed her more, and perusing the aisles in search of something. Sarah was forced to slink around the displays, head ducked, trying to escape his notice, all while her friend watched her with a bemused expression.

A donut was her undoing. He paused by the display, clearly tempted. He succumbed to that temptation and made a selection. She couldn’t exactly judge him for getting a treat, given the Charleston Chew that had somehow ended up with her selections, but he had to choose a donut with pink icing and sprinkles.

She could not stop the snort of amusement. 

She froze, prayed, and looked up to see him staring down at her from over the bags of jerky, one brow raised in a haughty expression. “Did you lose something down there, Sarah?” he asked, drawing out her name in a way that made her feel like a girl in pigtails misbehaving. 

She tried to match his cool expression rather than pout. “How do you know my name?” she asked, striving for icy displeasure.

Her efforts were for naught when he responded with a condescending smirk. “You wear a name tag at the diner, my dear.”

Her cheeks went red and she worked at convincing herself that it was from anger rather than embarrassment. “Oh, right. My mistake, Jareth.”

She had vaguely hoped for him to demand how she knew his name and then she could make a cutting comment about him signing his receipts, but his smirk only deepened. Sarah’s jaw clenched and she quickly snatched up a jerky stick without looking, to give herself an excuse for being hunched up down there. She straightened and turned away, pointedly ignoring him as she went to look at whatever was in the next aisle over.

His low chuckle followed her and told her that he knew very well that she did not need windshield wiper fluid. Thankfully he moved to the counter after that, paying for his gas, donut and, of course, a can of cold coffee. 

When she had seen, out of the corner of her eye, that he was gone, she nearly sagged with relief and went to pay for her own selection of items. Makena was looking at her with pursed lips.

“And what was that?” 

“What was what?” Sarah asked.

“Sarah you are the politest person I know. I have never seen you act so… dramatic!”

Sarah leaned on the counter and, in a low voice, said, “Listen, that man is the most odious, annoying creature on the planet. I swear he gets his jollies by stalking me and doing everything in his power to bug me. Just ask Mr. H!”

Makena crossed her arms. “I don’t believe it. You can make friends with anyone. You even got Mrs. Applegate to bake you cookies and call you ‘Sweetie-love” and she hates everyone but John Wayne and Jesus.”

“You don’t understand,” Sarah said, “He was nice to you. I’m pretty sure he’s some kind of devil in human disguise.” As she spoke, she counted out exact change and handed it over.

“If you say so,” Makena replied, dubiously. “But hey, are you sure-”

While Sarah listened, she tore open the jerky stick and took a bite, then immediately dropped it as pain shot through her mouth.

“-that you want the Carolia Reaper jerky?”


	6. Helplessly

Jareth dropped his pencil. Perhaps dropped is too gentle a word. It would be more accurate to say Jareth growled and threw his pencil across the room. He stood and ran his hands through his hair. As he stretched his back, aching from sitting hunched over the table for hours, he noticed light coming in the window. Morning already?

A quick glance at the clock confirmed that he was late for his morning ‘appointment’. 

Breakfast at the Piece of Cake had quickly become a ritual since he had moved to the forsaken little town. It gave him a chance to step back from his work, rest his mind and eyes, and regain perspective. The coffee was excellent and the food was passable, certainly better than the other  _ two _ eateries in Gooseberry. And besides, the Piece of Cake came with free entertainment.

He took a quick shower and dressed for the day, then made his way down to town.

He was glad for the distance between his cabin and the rest of town. He would never understand why he felt uncomfortable being too close to people. Life in the city had nearly done his head in. It must be the tranquility that distance provided; no voices yammering at him and intruding on his concentration. Still, the morning routine claimed him.

The drive down the hill was always pleasant. The wind in his face helped him feel more awake after another night of nearly no sleep. The road twisted and turned like a snake, the early sun showing through the tree trunks and painting everything dappled green and gold. It was freedom. It was almost like flying.

As he parked his motorcycle and stowed his helmet, the huge, hairy neighborhood beast ambled over. Jareth squatted down so he could scratch the dog behind its ears and under its chin. It gazed mournfully at him with soulful brown eyes. “Good morning, Chap,” Jareth told him. “Now don’t look at me like that. It’s not time yet.” He straightened but gave Ludo one more pet before he wandered off.

He entered the diner feeling a modicum better than when he left his home. That modicum increased dramatically when she turned to call a greeting, saw who it was, and visibly rolled her eyes. He did not even try to stop his smirk of amusement as he took his normal booth in the corner. 

She delayed approaching his table, fawning over her other customers and speaking to the cook, but he did not mind. It let him watch her and his fingers itched for the discarded pencil. Such a puzzle.

His thoughts were interrupted as a cup of coffee was set, none too gently, in front of him. “You’re late,” she said.

He looked up at her and purred, “Did you miss me, Sarah?”

She snorted, “Like a kick in the teeth, Jareth. The usual?”

It pleased him that she used his name easily now. Elbows on the table, he laced his fingers under his chin and grinned up at her, eyes mocking. “Please. Thank you, my dear.”

She huffed and spun away as he reached for the creamer. 

Jareth was not a social man, by any stretch of the imagination. Most people, even those he knew well and trusted, made him uneasy in a way he couldn’t put words to. Out of place. Almost helpless, which he did not like at all. But for some reason this temperamental waitress gave him a sense of being grounded. That alone was worth the morning trips to town, but their interactions were a delight to him. Thinly veiled insults, snappy comebacks, teasing barbs and that eventual moment when her face flushed crimson with ire and her eyes flashed. Delightful.

She returned and set his plate before him, turning it carefully so that he could see that it was a face with eggs for eyes and bacon forming a frown. He snickered, “What a lovely self-portrait you’ve made, Sarah. I’m honored.”

“You’re  _ so _ welcome, Jareth,” she said, laying it on thick. “I call it ‘Thinking of You’.” She’d come prepared with the pot and refilled his nearly empty cup of coffee. “Do you need anything else? Maybe a neck brace?”

His pithy retort faltered and he arched a brow.

“Well,” she replied placidly, “You always keep your nose so high in the air, I thought you must have a crick in your neck.”

He grinned and gave her a little salute with his fork, acceding her the point. She attempted to maintain her annoyed scowl but he was sure that, as she turned her back to him, he caught a tiny quirk of a smile on her lips. 

Regretfully, two large groups of tourists came in after that and he barely got another word with her. Still, he was able to watch her and tuck the memories away, the dark shine of her hair, the fullness of her lower lip, the way she moved as if gravity was only a secondary thought to her. He tucked those away for later use. Such a puzzle.

He paid, giving his money not to Sarah but to the old man with the face like a dried up mud flat, and left. Ludo was waiting for him outside the door and Jareth gave him the small bite of bacon he’d tucked into a napkin in his pocket. “Keep up the good work,” he murmured to the dog, then wondered why he had said it. 

Refreshed, Jareth decided to do a quick circuit around the lake before heading home. It was a beautiful drive on a barely better than dirt road and he did not take advantage of it nearly as much as he should. He would have to return soon, of course. He had a mountain of things to do and he had a sinking feeling that he was once again not going to be able to accomplish any of them adequately, but for now he would just drive. Drive and remember.


	7. Zealously

Sarah’s tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. It had been a long day, busy almost from the moment they opened. She had been running, smiling, serving, mixing, cleaning, going, going, going and she had nearly reached her limit. Her fingers trembled a little. She needed to unwind. She needed it bad.

Her eyes darted around the dining room, reassuring herself that nobody was there. Boris was in the back prepping for dinner, Mr. H was in his office doing who knows what and the last customer had walked out five minutes go. Her hand drifted down to the pocket of her apron, fingers pressing against the small item secreted inside. 

She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t. She should do the right thing and go refill ketchup and mustard bottles, wipe down the tables and give the bathroom a once over. She should but… 

Her head was buzzing and her eyes felt a little unfocused. Overstimulation, she told herself, from being so busy and having so many people making demands of her at once. Surely it wouldn’t be so bad if she took just a little break, right? Nobody was here. Nobody had to know.

Her hand slipped into the pocket, fingers curling protectively around her prize. 

Mr. H said she was addicted, he even blamed himself, but he didn’t understand. She didn’t have to do it, it just helped when things got to be too much. Her eyes darted around the room again anxiously. She couldn’t let him catch her again. 

Picking up a bottle of cleaning fluid and a rag, Sarah made her way nonchalantly towards the bathroom, glancing out the window to make sure that the parking lot was empty. Yes, she should have enough time as long as Mr. H stayed back in the office.

She was too far lost in her desire, now. If Mr. H caught her, then so be it. She  _ needed _ this.

Sarah drew the quarter out of her pocket and slid it into the slot, letting the jangle of music take her away.

* * *

“Not yet,” Jareth admitted.

The crackle of a sigh was loud over the bluetooth speaker in his helmet. “I can’t keep putting them off, J. You’ve got commitments.” Bryn’s voice sounded young over the phone, but Jareth could picture their white-haired head shaking in disapproval of his perceived faults. 

“I know,” he said, tartly. Jareth had a strong personality but he needed Bryn so he kept a tight rein on his temper. “But believe me, they would not settle for the quality of what I’ve been making.”

Bryn’s voice was carefully neutral but Jareth had known them long enough to recognize the aggravation held back. Bryn had to deal with the buyers and they could be vicious. “You were certain that this move would help.”

“I’ve only been here a few weeks-”

“A month and a half.”

That startled him. Had it really been so long already? Finally he sighed. “I have… an option. I don’t know whether she- it will pan out. I just need a bit longer.” He tried to lace his voice with his usual confidence, “You’ll see, Bryn. Everything will be fine.”

Bryn finally conceded to hold off the beasts a bit longer for him and Jareth thanked them in a tone that he hoped did not sound too weary. He’d been on his way for a grocery run but a glance at his watch told him he still had time. 

A cup of coffee. That’s what he needed.

He was gratified to find that the parking lot at the Piece of Cake was empty. He would like a few moments alone with his thoughts. And it was still early enough.

When he entered, his attention was drawn by an annoying beeping and chiming to his right. Back near the restrooms stood two old arcade machines that he had never seen used before. Today, she stood in front of one adorned with images of space ships and lazer fire. She was apparently so intent on her game that she had not noticed the bells that marked his arrival. Amused, he moved silently over to investigate.

Sarah leaned over the joystick, fingers moving furiously over the buttons with practiced familiarity. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration and the very tip of her tongue peeked out of her lips on one side. He examined her profile, in the unnatural light of the machine; intent and focused, her skin now painted blue, now painted green. Really quite lovely in an almost unearthly way.

It could work. It could be exactly what he was missing, if she did not hate him. Certainly she would never aid him willingly. 

After a moment he had to admit that, despite his lack of any knowledge or particular interest in this game, she was doing impressively well. Her little space fighter was shooting down the enemies with grace and efficiency. The score kept shooting up and up. It was too much to resist.

He leaned close and in a soft voice asked, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

She jumped with a very rewarding squawk, her ship careening out of control and disintegrating under heavy enemy fire. 

“No!” she yelped, reaching for the joystick though it was already too late. “I had almost done it. I’d almost beat the high score!”

She whirled on him and the fire in her eyes startled and impressed him. She held up a righteous finger under his nose and hissed, “Jareth Aelfric do you  _ know _ how long I have been trying to beat that high score? I was in the zone! You don’t mess with a woman when she’s in the Galaga zone!” She moved closer and automatically he fell back a step. She was a lioness in her anger. “You owe me, Mister. You owe me and you are  _ going _ to pay your debt.”

“Owe you?” 

She held out her hand, palm up. “One game, one quarter.”

He had to laugh as he payed his fee.


End file.
